


sleepover

by makeashadow_ao3



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Hizzie - Freeform, Just gals being pals, Mutual Pining, soft angst, teenage drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeashadow_ao3/pseuds/makeashadow_ao3
Summary: What's a sleepover between friends?
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	sleepover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siph0ner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siph0ner/gifts).

> this takes place in s2 in between of that legendary "hope. andrea. mikaelson." revelation and everyone getting their malivore memories back. something soft™ and sweet. 
> 
> tw: vomiting. 
> 
> soundtrack? a lot of hayley kiyoko and all the queer femme artists i could find on spotify.

“So, _ where _ exactly are you staying?”

The question comes out of the blue. Lizzie came for portal duty bearing gifts: coffee and gossip. She keeps Hope up to date with all the goings-on at the Salvatore School and only offers her knowledge of Josie and Landon’s progress when asked. It’s a sticky situation - stickier than the small black pit they guard every day.

“Really?” Hope’s attention doesn’t leave the portal, but she shifts on her side of the bench. “I kind of thought he’d told you.”

The pregnant silence lingers causing her to glance at her blonde friend. Dark eyebrows rise in expectation, to which Hope can only shrug. 

“_ Oh _…” Lizzie buttons her lips and sits back, taps her fingers against the paper coffee cup. “Water under the bridge,” she finally says breezily. 

Hope frowns. “Really?” she asks again, her voice colored in suspicion. With their frenemy status only recently discarded, she’s left a little unsteady. The Saltzman-Forbes twins, in a lot of ways, made her life a living hell for much of their adolescence. Much of it due to the Mikaelson’s relationship with Dr. Saltzman.

“Absolutely.” Lizzie squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I did a lot of work on myself and my mental health this summer and, even though I didn’t remember you, I still had to work through the feelings I have about my dad’s...distance. I mean, all those years I was obviously projecting all my negative feelings on you.”

Hope smirks. She figures that’s as much of a contrite admission as she’ll get and she’s right.

The twin exhales then clasps her fingers together. “I’m guessing you’re staying in the guest room Josie and I have yet to use.”

She clears her throat and dips her head to the coffee in her hands. “Uh, yeah. But I’m hardly there. I sleep, I shower, then I’m here on portal patrol.”

“That’s so…” she searches for the word. “Lonely.” The girls make eye contact. “Going from a school full of chaotic, hormonal teens to a pit of _ nothing _, and now you’re enrolled in public school and hanging out in the town center like a vagrant.”

“I know it’s pathetic. I don’t need the reminder, thanks.”

“No.” She turns to Hope, leaning her long torso forward, and wraps her hands around Hope’s, who still holds her cup. “We’re doing a sleepover. Tonight.” Then the corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smirk. “You do know what that is, right? Girls who are friends spending the night together. Talking a little shit about the people we don’t like, drooling over the ones we do?”

“Of course I do,” she flushes. “But if you freeze my bra or hit me with a pillow, I’ll definitely wolf out on you.”

“Do it.” They drop hands and sit back, their focus returning to the death pit. “I hear wolves have really soft fur, so maybe you’ll imprint on me and I’ll make you my pillow…”

The shorter girl rolls her eyes, mutters about how wolves imprinting on humans is a thing of fiction, but her stomach clenches anyway.

“My dad’s staying at school late because of some parent-teacher whatever,” Lizzie’s voice calls from the other room. She peeks her head in the bedroom where Hope makes the full size bed with clean, floral sheets. “Where are his hiding places?”

It’s wrong. Dr. Saltzman may be on the verge of an actual problem if he isn’t underwater already, but she can’t stop the grin that takes over her face. “Storage under the stove. Top of the bookshelf in the living room behind the bestiary. And...there’s a really expensive bottle of bourbon under the sink in his bathroom if you’re feeling brave.”

Lizzie matches Hope’s wicked smile but stops. “Storage under the stove? I thought that was a broiler.”

“Maybe.” She fluffs a pillow before tossing it to the side Lizzie will sleep on. “He hasn’t accidentally broiled any vodka and salmon, so you should be good.”

The blonde escapes to pillage, and Hope exhales a deep breath. 

This is fine, she tells herself. Sure, she and Lizzie haven’t ever been friends exactly but they’re not strangers. There’s no foreseeable hornet’s nest. Besides, it’s nice to have one person know who she is. No, _ remember _who she is. Makes her feel a lot less out of her mind. Like she didn’t make up her entire reality before falling into Malivore.

The room is okay. It’s a nice size for a two bedroom apartment in town and enough space for the occasional twin visit. From what she can tell, though, Josie’s the only one who’s been here but the bedroom was otherwise un-lived in before Hope showed up. It feels weird.

Lizzie comes back with a bottle of champagne and a container of strawberries. “I dunno what he thinks he’ll be celebrating as the principal of that zoo.” She stuffs a piece of fruit in her mouth, the green leaves tickling her lips. “It’s not like he dates.”

“He seems to be getting cozy with the new sheriff.”

“As if. He’ll never do better than my mom anyway.”

“Which one?”

Yeah, it’s her dad and her skin crawls thinking of him being romantic with any woman, even her mom. Parents are decidedly sexless and it should stay that way… But it is gossip she can’t pass up. 

She lays across the bed, rumples the cover Hope just straightened out, and puts on a pensive face. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing really. He asks me when I plan to tell Landon the truth, so I ask when he plans to ask out Sheriff Mac. He usually drops the subject after that.”

Blue eyes fall to the paisley cover. It’s ugly, but it’s soft and she needs something comforting to admit what she’s about to say. “He’s not wrong, ya know. About Landon. You’re gonna have to tell the mophead, and sooner is always better than later.”

“What?” the tribrid deadpans. “I thought you liked me all to yourself.”

To that, the siphon frowns and sputters indignantly. “Uh, that’s obviously the other way around! Why else am I keeping your secret?”

She cooly shrugs. “Maybe I’ve never had a friend who’s a girl and I’d like to give it a shot.”

“Before the proverbial shit hits the fan, you mean.”

“Sure.” Non-committal as only Hope Andrea Mikaelson can be, she steals a mushy strawberry then pivots. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Save some hot water!” Lizzie yells after her. Her cheeks burn and she can’t figure out why, so her fingers go to work, nails scraping cheap golden foil. 

The green bottle is down to its dregs, strawberries all eaten, and the girls can’t stop giggling. 

“God, we were horrible to you!”

“Thank you!” She kicks her legs up but they don’t go far, hampered by the heavy cover. “If anything, I was just defending myself. Who knew the Saltzman twins would turn out to be the gruesome twosome?”

“What? You can’t claim self-defense every time! You dished out more than your fair share.”

“Not how _ I _ remember things.”

“Said the Mikaelson.”

The dig hits. If not for the alcohol, she might’ve been really hurt by the insinuation. Her father is considered the “great evil” in all their texts, after all. As if his money didn’t sustain the Salvatore School all these years.

But, the girl is sloshed, her wolf healing having not yet kicked in, so she does the first thing she can think of. 

She strikes Lizzie in the face with a pillow. 

The blue-eyed blonde sits up, a ruthless glare piercing. Only her hair is mussed and cheeks pink and it’s kind of cute. “That’s a frozen bra-able offense. _Punishable_ offense.” 

Hope lets out a laugh at the wording, throwing her head back. Being in the other girl’s presence makes her feel like she’s flying while also being tethered to something. One thing. She could build a whole new life as Hope Marshall, were-witch who randomly stumbled into the monster riddled Mystic Falls. But Lizzie knowing who she really is… That new identity isn’t all that appealing comparatively.

Her hazy, lingering gaze is interrupted by a pillow upside her head, strands of auburn hair whipping from the impact. A pillow fight ensues, each hit more cathartic than any training session, until they both fall back across the bed dizzy and spent.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Lizzie says, out of breath. 

“Please, no. At least not in my direction.” The fight helped burn off her drunkenness, her supernatural healing doing the rest. Staring at the ceiling, she listens to her heart pound in her ears. “When I was fourteen, I had a crush on Josie.”

The sound of Lizzie throwing up in the wastebasket on the other side of the bed is her response.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The bout of motion sickness turns into food poisoning and soon Hope is rubbing Lizzie’s back as she leans over the toilet. They blame the overripe strawberries. 

White silk threads through soft fingers as she scratches her scalp. “So, are all sleepovers this fun? Or am I just special?”

Lizzie attempts a chuckle that morphs into a dry heave. “Oh, you’re all kinds of special.” 

The lanky girl lifts up her head and sits back against the side of the tub. Hope’s hands fall away. “While I was puking my guts out, I had a thought.”

Bushy eyebrows bounce in anticipation.

“How could you have a crush on my sister? Like, still?”

“I never said I still had one.” Lizzie gives her a look meaning _ bullshit_. “I dunno.”

“After spreading that rumor about me, setting your room on fire? Not to mention how jealous she’s been about Landon.”

“You really do remember everything, don’t you?”

“Hard to forget the smear campaign orchestrated by my own twin,” she grumbles.

Hope’s lips thin, memories of the car ride back to campus where she and Lizzie came to terms with the unknown wedge between them. Daughter of the headmaster or not, she’s been ostracized because of her mental health. Maybe Hope could’ve been the friend she needed all along. They both could have.

“Well, my crush on her only lasted a week anyway,” she clarifies. “You can put the green eyes away.”

“I don’t… That’s not—” She gets back the _ bullshit _ expression. “Whatever.”

A banging comes to the door. “Girls, why is there an empty champagne bottle in your room?” Alaric has his stern, father/father-figure voice on, but it’s undercut by his own inebriated state. 

The tribrid whispers a cloaking spell on the other room then calls back, “What bottle?” Confused rumbles and footsteps die away before the teenagers fall into another fit of giggles. 

It’s not snoring. It’s heavy breathing and it’s keeping Lizzie awake. After the fireworks display, she thought she’d pass right out and yet…

She rolls over to her side. Hope is fast asleep. A tendril of hair in her face quivers with every exhale. She really is pretty and not just for some vapid pageant. She’s got a full face and eyes set far enough apart to give her a playful, impish appearance. 

She lightly tucks the strand behind her ear then, as if burned or stung, pulls her hand back. She’s so _ warm. _

In her bitchier, less informed moments, Lizzie hated her. Really and truly loathed Hope Mikaelson. Now, after everything, she understands her feelings better and how that aversion was misunderstood attraction. 

Not like physical attraction. Like from the outside looking in. Like being ashamed of how much she wanted to be friends with the girl all through the years. Like envying her hair and the way flat teeth peek from under that defined cupid’s bow, her effortless skill with her powers and how little validation she seemed to require.

Like how puberty hit her first and hit _ hard_, how well she filled out her uniforms, that soft voice, and the way eyes gravitate to her. Even her own.

Lizzie lays back, her eyes snapping to the moonlit ceiling once more.

She doesn’t have a crush on Hope. Nope. She doesn’t want to be her or be near her. She just wants a friend. One genuine person who knows exactly who she is and likes her all the same. Not the way her own twin can’t seem to _ get _ her or the way MG fawns as if liking her gives him brownie points in feminism. Just two people who see each other for who they are. 

Is that too much to ask?


End file.
